


Sin City

by qklover



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, How Do I Tag, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT) is Whipped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:54:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qklover/pseuds/qklover
Summary: To see Paris and die is a pretty touching dream.
Relationships: Mark Lee & Wong Kun Hang | Hendery, Mark Lee/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	Sin City

“To see Paris and die is a pretty touching dream.”

Mark is surprised to hear his native language in Europe as he turns his head towards the voice. An Asian boy emerges from the darkness, with an appearance that stands out from the crowd; obviously not to be confused with a tourist. But Mark is glad to see his countryman here - during his week in Paris, he barely spoke to anyone, even if he’s fluent in English. It’s hard to make friends in such a big city.

“I don’t dream of dying here,” Mark replies with a smile, “But I dreamed of visiting for a long time.”

“I’m not surprised. This city skillfully hides itself behind bright tinsel,” the boy reaches out his hand, “I’m Kunhang.” Mark notices how foreign his name sounds, but he doesn’t say anything. He also notices the softness of the boy’s skin as he shakes his hand. Kunhang grins at him and leans back against the post, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes, the city is really bright,” Mark doesn’t respond to Kunhang’s taunt, “And the people are really nice.”

“Well, most of them, maybe except sly swindlers, but they are half the trouble." Kunhang chuckles. "Many are lucky, and they meet only with them. There are also many cunning prostitutes, dangerous and smelly homeless people and inconspicuous pickpockets,” he glances at Mark and quickly punches him in the chest, laughing loudly, almost falling to the pavement. “Relax, I’m just kidding. But your reaction was good,” Kunhang leans back against the post again, seeming amused.

Mark smiles back, but keeps a close eye on Kunhang’s every move, carefully moving a little further away so that he can escape at any moment. 

But Kunhang doesn't seem dangerous as he says something about The Eiffel Tower and continues telling all sorts of nonsense about the city, and driven by curiosity, Mark stays.

“I hate this city,” Kunhang says a few moments later, unexpectedly sad. His smile drops as he looks up at the bright lights of the famous tower.

Kunhang is really good looking, even pretty, Mark notes, as he turns to him. Kunhang has big dark eyes, long eyelashes and thin lips, he’s a little taller and has long black hair that suits him really well, and Mark finds him unexpectedly _attractive_.

“Why don't you leave then? What's keeping you here?”

Kunhang smiles, “If I was a guide, I would tell you how much I love the city and how many opportunities people have here, but in reality, Paris is a city of garbage and fraud. The garbage lies under every bench, flying in the air and walking on two legs, making plans for the next year. Garbage, beautifully decorated with tinsel,” he turns to look at Mark, “And I can’t leave, I never will.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, surprised at how sad his voice sounds. Even if he was a well-known mourning vest among his friends and always knew how to choose different words for each person, right now Mark doesn't really know how to react.

“I'm sorry, I was just…” Kunhang lets out a chuckle, a little embarrassed. “I have no one to talk to in my native language.”

“I can make you a company,” Mark says carefully. “I would love to know more about the city.”

“Let’s have a beer?” Kunhang says, visibly excited, his sad smile gone.

Mark chuckles softly, loving how his mood changed. “I prefer coffee.”

“Okay,” Kunhang laughs again, “Coffee is nice too. I know a place where food is twice as tasty and cheaper than in tourist cafes.”

Mark thinks that Kunhang is a little strange. At first, he was complaining about the city, saying how horrible it is, but now he is cheerfully telling about his adventures, trying on the role of a guide and saying something that is not usually written in guidebooks as they pass by buildings. Kunhang may be weird, but Mark likes him, so he relaxes in his company, completely trusting him with the choice of coffee.

“I’ve entertained you this whole time, but you haven’t told me anything about yourself!” Kunhang leans his elbows on the counter and puts his head in his hands as they’re sitting in a cafe.

Mark shrugs, “I like listening to you.” 

Kunhang giggles, lightly kicking Mark under the table and Mark feels his head swimming, his heart skipping a beat. 

“Tell me about Korea,” Kunhang asks, “My mother took me to France when I was seven, and when I was fifteen, she left me alone for good. After that, I completely lost touch with Korea. You can say that I've gone completely native.”

“So you mean, scolding the city and calling it a trash can is inherent in all true Parisians?” Mark chuckles and amusedly watches Kunhang collapse on the table laughing out loud, squeaking almost, so he tries to talk about Korea with humor, as he usually does with friends. He talks casually about his friends, about his university and exams, about the new president, and about pop music ‒ in short, about everything that Korea is built on, in his opinion. Kunhang smiles and nods seriously and Mark likes to follow his reactions, so he adds color to almost every sentence.

"I like the way you talk about Korea," Kunhang says, sipping his coffee. “More fun than they write in blogs.”

“And you talk about Paris more interesting than they write in guidebooks.”

“Unfortunately, I'm not acceptable as a guide. I don’t like the history of France.” Kunhang shrugs and Mark melts under his gaze.

Mark doesn’t really believe in love at first sight, but if that’s what it is, then he is happy to experience it.

Kunhang holds him by the elbow and leads him in an unknown direction. They walk down a wide street lit by streetlights, and Mark calms down a little. Kunhang tells him more about himself, his life in Paris, about almost every building they pass. With each step, his hand sinks downward and eventually he takes Mark's hand, almost intertwining their fingers. 

They face the bridge, lit from all sides. Below, on the river, sailing ships, restaurants, bustling with tourists. 

"If it wasn't for all of those noises, I might have agreed for a split second that Paris is a city of romance," Kunhang softly squeezes Mark’s hand and smiles at him, tilting his head. “In the dark, you can't see garbage and dirt, there are only lights that, perhaps, really do look beautiful.”

Mark laughs softly and nods, subtly inching closer to Kunhang, feeling the warmth he’s radiating. They stay like this for several minutes, but Mark would like to stay like this for a little while, their fingers laced together in an oddly comforting gesture. He felt safe with this weird boy and everything in this moment felt strangely right for him.

“Oh, look at the time,” Kunhang jerks his head toward one of the displays. “It's almost midnight, where is your hotel? You can't take the subway now.”

“I don’t remember the name of the street,” Mark says, a little embarrassed, “But I carry a map with his hotel marked on it.” Kunhang giggles and says it's too far, suggesting that he takes a taxi. And Mark agrees.

“Can we meet tomorrow?” Mark holds Kunhang’s hands while they wait for a taxi.

“Sure. Call me.” Kunhang taps the number into Mark’s phone, looking excited and pecks his cheek.

“See you tomorrow,” Mark smiles, feeling his heart pounding in his chest as he closes the taxi door.

Kunhang waves at him and his soft smile turns into a smug one.

_“To see Paris and die.”_

Kunhang sighs dramatically, clutching Mark’s wallet in his pocket.

_“Die of hunger.”_

Grinning amusedly, Kunhang disappears into the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck was that? aHaha i have no idea  
> you can yell at me [ here ](https://twitter.com/aruishere_)


End file.
